


In The Depths Of Our Dreams

by AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 07:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4513446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell/pseuds/AtLeastWeWontBeLonelyInHell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You didn''t came when Meave died." He's not sure why he said it and he really isn't sure why he sounds so mad all of a sudden. But Emily doesn't even look surprised.<br/>"I kept calling you over and over again," Spencer continues. "But you never picked up the phone. You never even called me back." He watches her eyes grow even darker.<br/>"I know," she whispers and her voice sounds broken. "When you called me, I wasn't even in London. I got your voicemails three months later, when I came back."</p>
            </blockquote>





	In The Depths Of Our Dreams

**In The Depths Of Our Dreams**

**.**

**.**

Spencer Reid is drunk.  _No, scratch that._  He's wasted. Not that it took much to get to that point.

He's sitting in a bar at the other end of town. It's dark and depressing. The air filled with smoke.

Spencer isn't sure how much of that Scotch he's had. The room is spinning dangerously y _et, it doesn't feel like he's had enough._

He gestures to the bartender that he wants another one, but the guy only raises his brows and shakes his head.

"I think you've had enough, man. You should call someone to come and take you home."

Spencer laughs. Not that it's actually funny, but w _ho the hell should he call?_

"There's no one I can call," he tells the bartender. At least he thinks he does, but the words sound weird in his ears.

He allows his head to rest on his arms on the counter, closes his eyes and tries to fight the pounding headache that's about to consume him.

He's not sure what made him lose it today. The memories had come out of nowhere, just like always. And then he was crumbling. Falling. Breaking. Fleeing the bureau before he even knew what he was doing.

"Spencer."

A familiar voice brings him back to the bar, a voice he hasn't heard in so long that for a moment he isn't sure if he might have imagined it. He blinks and looks up from his place on the counter to find Emily standing next to him.

There are snowflakes glistening in her dark hair and all over her black coat and Spencer wonders if she's an hallucination. Because she can't be there. She's in London or god knows where.

He stares when her hand reaches for his and he can't help but flinch back when her feels her ice cold skin brush against his.

"You're real?" he blurts out. More to himself than to her and finds her looking at him puzzled.  _So does the guy behind the bar._

The guy, Emily, _or his hallucination of Emily,_ obviously knows, because she calls him by his first name.

"Thanks for calling me, Pete!" She gives him a thankful nod and Spencer stares, wondering if any of this would make sense if he were sober.

"What are you doing here?" he asks her. At least he wants to, but the words coming out of his mouth don't sound right.

He tries to get up, a sudden instinct to flee. Stumbles. But he doesn't hit the floor after all, because she keeps him from doing so. And of course she does, she's  _Emily._

"Let's get you home," she tells him, steadying his body with hers. Her voice soft and warm and so achingly familiar it makes him feel incredibly sad.

Or maybe he's just drunk.

.

They seem to walk forever, the cold night air soothing his burning cheeks. Sobering him up a little and he realizes that it is indeed snowing. He's freezing, wishes he had his coat.

Why doesn't he have a coat in the first place? He's sure there's a reason for that, a reason he can't remember. He will tomorrow, when he wakes up with a hangover from hell.

He blinks when Emily stops in front of a black car, some expensive looking European.

"Do me a favor and don't throw up in the car," she tells him pleadingly, while she helps him on the passenger's side. "Clyde's going to kill me if something ruins the leather seats."

For a moment Spencer's confused, than he remembers. Clyde, that Brit guy, of course. The one that took her away from him. The one who gave her the life she's now living in London  _or where ever she really is and whatever she's really doing._

It's not like she's talking to him anymore. It's not like she ever did. If he's honest with himself he has to admit everything she ever said had been a lie.

He leans his head back against the window, stares out into the dark. He can't remember the last time it had snowed like this. Can't remember the last time the streets in Washington were deserted like they are right now.

Spencer watches as the snowflakes tumble down to earth. Watches the darkness rush buy. He thinks he hears Emily argue with someone over the phone, but he's too tired to pay attention to what she's saying.

It seems like hours have passed, when they come to a halt in front of his apartment. Spencer allows Emily to help him out and walk him into the building and up the stairs. He has a hard time getting his keys, but Emily pretends not to notice while she waits patiently.

He knows his apartment is a mess, but he's too drunk to do anything about it, so he simply walks over books and clothes until he reaches his couch. Sinks down into the old worn leather, his eyes already falling shut.

He feels Emily's hand on his wrist, hears her ask him something. Then she's gone, rummaging through his kitchen cupboards. At least it sounds like she does and Spencer allows himself to drift away.

.

When he manages to open his eyes again, there's a glass of water on the table next to a package of aspirin.

"How's your head?"

He blinks and finds Emily at the window. Her arms crossed in front of her chest, moonlight on her pale face.

"Why are you even here?" he asks her. Surprised at how sober he sounds. Wonders how much time has passed since they got to his apartment.

"Because you called," Emily tells him. Her eyes locked with his. "You called and asked me to come."

Spencer sits up straight.  _At least he tries. It's not really working though._

"What? No. I didn't." He blinks. Irritated. "I called you? When?"

"You don't remember?" Now it's Emily who looks confused.  _Worried._

"I'm not sure," Spencer admits. "Lately, I'm a little bit ..." he trails off. Not sure what to tell her.

"You called me two days ago in the middle of the night and begged me to come," Emily explains matter of factly.

"I'm sorry... you didn't... I mean..." Spencer's searching for the right thing to say. But the truth is he has no idea what to say. He doesn't even remember calling her in the first place.

_Did he really call her?_

He rubs his aching temples, tries to remember what he did two days ago.

He'd been in Vegas, hadn't he? Working that case where everything went wrong right from the start. The day he got himself some dilaudid, the bottle that's still stuffed in his hiding place in the bathroom.

In the end he hadn't even touched it. Had gotten himself drunk instead. Hadn't been a better idea after all, expecially not the next morning.

When Spencer opens his eyes again, he finds Emily seated on the couch beside him.

"I'm sorry I couldn't come sooner," she starts. "This was the best I could do." She looks like she's about to cry.  _Or maybe his mind is just playing tricks on him again_.

"You didn''t came when Meave died."

He's not sure why he said it and he really isn't sure why he sounds so mad all of a sudden. But Emily doesn't even look surprised.

"I kept calling you over and over again," Spencer continues. "But you never picked up the phone. You never even called me back."

He watches her eyes grow even darker.

"I know," she whispers and her voice sounds broken. "When you called me, I wasn't even in London. I got your voicemails three months later when I came back."

"Where were you?" Spencer can't stop from asking.

He hears her sigh. Watches her close her eyes.

"I wish I could tell you, Spencer."

It becomes silent, the two of them stare out of his window and into the dark. It's still snowing, snowflakes tumbling to earth and with every passing flake, Spencer feels his eyes grow heavier.

.

"You need to stop running away, Spence."

The sound of Emily's voice makes him open his eyes again. He's not sure how much time has passed, but he realizes that their shoulders are touching, Her head against his shoulder. His head atop of hers. The sweet scent of her vanilla shampoo in his nose.

"You ran," he whispers. His hand curled around hers, holding on to her softly. Her warm body fitting perfectly against his side.

"That's why you should listen to me," she says. "Running won't get you anywhere. I already know."

"Then come back," the words are out of his mouth before he can stop himself.

She looks up at him and he thinks he's never seen her look sadder.  _More broken._

"It's too late for me, Spencer."

He feels her fingers on his cheek, so gently it makes him want to cry. And he knows she's right, because he can see it in her eyes.

"But you, you can still turn back, Spencer. I know you can."

They just sit there for the rest of the night, saying nothing at all. His hand around hers, holding on to her like a lifeline, until he feels his eyes fall shut. Exhaustion finally taking over.

"Stay," he mumbles, his voice thick with sleep. "Please stay."

.

When he wakes up in the morning, it's still snowing. And to his surprise Spencer realizes that he doesn't have a headache for the first time in weeks.

He gets up to his feet, takes a look outside and finds white flakes incessantly falling from the sky. The whole street buried under snow. A white, puffy blanket that becomes thicker every second.

Spencer can't help but smile, already looking for his phone to call JJ. Thinking that he's going to take the day off and spend it with his godson. Take Henry with him to the park for a sleigh ride, build a snowman or even a snow castle.

Work can wait. At least for today.

He finds his phone next to a phone that isn't his own and for a moment he just stares at his coffee table.

It's than that he realizes the sweet scent lingering in his apartment, the familiar scent of vanilla he hadn't noticed when he opened his eyes. The scent along with the laughter coming from the kitchen, the soft clattering of dishes on the wooden table.

He stops dead in his tracks in the doorframe of his kitchen where he finds Emily sitting next to Henry, the two of them eating pancakes.

Emily spots him first, a smile growing on her lips. "Look who's finally awake!"

"Uncle Spencer!" Henry squeals happily before he jumps up from his chair. "Emily picked me up and said you would take me to the park today! Will you?"

Spencer takes the boy in his arms, before he looks back at Emily. Unable to hide his smile.

"Of course I will! Maybe your Aunt Emily can join us too. What do you think?"

Henry grins, both of them looking back at her.

"I'm stuck in town anyway," Emily tells them with a shrug. And Spencer thinks that maybe it isn't too late to turn back after all.

_For both of them._

**.**

**.**


End file.
